


Forever and Almost Always

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school is over and college is looming. Amy and Karma are making the most of the little time they have left together before life pulls them in different directions. At the moment Amy least expects it, she finds herself drawn closer to Karma than ever before.</p><p>
  <i>“You won’t have another moment like this.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever and Almost Always

**Author's Note:**

> Follows canon up to the end of 2B and deviates thereafter, taking liberties with the timeline. Combo prompt by dewi and my partner in Karmy crime, @spasticandviolent. Both were a challenge of sorts, relating to a confident Karma taking charge with Amy and to just go with what they wanted without thinking too much, which was pretty hard for me since I love character introspection so much. To say anything else would kind of ruin it, but I hope this still feels true to them as characters. Firstly, don’t read this at work unless you have a very tolerant boss. Secondly, this is my present in honour of _Faking It_ ’s return. Happy _Faking It_ Day! Title from/inspired by the Kate Voegele song of the same name.

_“Once time is lit, it will burn whether or not you're breathing it in._  
_Even after smoke becomes air, there is the memory of smoke._  
_I am seeing as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my_  
_life and having it feel right.”_  
– David Levithan, _The Realm of Possibility_.

***

The moment you come up for air, you know something is different.

You’ve been here before of course, jumping headlong into this pool, fully clothed. Except, this time, you’re not jumping in to rescue a drunk Karma from herself. This time, you held her hand and you jumped in together, drunk on adrenaline, with about twenty other people all letting out the same warrior cry, because everything feels possible and you’re trying to wring out every drop of feeling from every single moment, while simultaneously feeling nostalgia for something that hasn’t even finished happening yet. It’s a strange thing. You’ve been oscillating between happiness and sadness for weeks now, sometimes living in that weird space between those two emotions, somewhere new and different and indescribable. The space that exists when prefix the word ‘last’ to everything you do, because the months before you leave for college have turned into days.

Three days, to be exact. That’s how long until leave for NYU to study film and television. You’re the first to go, and the least ready to do it. You haven’t packed, and you haven’t really thought about how the logistics of New York and Connecticut will work once Karma goes to Wesleyan. You were so busy helping each other with applications and portfolio work, you didn’t actually think about what would happen should Karma get accepted. Their music programme is insane, and you’re ridiculously proud of her. She’s going to love it. You’re in for a lot of train rides you guess. Zigzagging along the Metro North to see her in Middlebury. There will be plane rides too if you ever want to see Shane and Lauren other than holidays. Lauren still hasn’t come down off the ceiling since she got into Georgetown, set on becoming a lawyer and living out every Elle Woods fantasy she’s had since she was a kid. She’ll do it. You’re certain. Shane’s headed to USC to continue his plans for world domination – his words, not yours – majoring in business. You won’t be surprised if you see him doing a TED Talk someday. In the strangest turn of events ever, you’re somehow invested in where Liam ends up too. Right now he’s not sure, torn between business school and art school like always. He thinks he’ll end up travelling for a while. You and Karma thought of doing the same together, backpacking around Australia or Thailand, maybe ending up in India with Molly’s oldest friend and Karma’s godmother, Malaika. Karma’s wanted to meet her forever. You’ll make it happen for her eventually. You’re determined to. Moments you wish you were Liam Booker are a lot rarer than they used to be, but you wish you had his money sometimes, just so you could buy Karma that ticket to Jaipur and make it a real experience.

Experience. That’s going to be your take-away from your senior year you think – wow, you have been spending _way_ too much time in Mr Scholten’s office reading his plethora of guidance pamphlets. Not everything panned out like you expected, but other things happened instead and made it a lot more interesting. Truthfully, the whole year has gone by in a blur. All the milestones have been reached. Friends, boyfriends, and girlfriends have come and gone. Hearts have broken, and mended, and broken again. In the end, it’s been you, Karma, Shane, Lauren, and Liam, gravitating back to each other time and again. Everything together. You pulled all-nighters, passed every paper and test, jumped through every admission hoop they set out, took thousands of pictures for Hester’s yearbook and a thousand others, trying to pin every moment down, just to say to say, ‘this happened, I saw it, I felt it, I lived it.’ Concerts. Movie nights. Shane’s weird little road trips where you never end up anywhere close to the place you set out for.

You went to every night of the senior play to watch Karma play Wendla to Cameron Cunningham’s Melchior in _Spring Awakening_. You went to senior prom as a group and watched Lauren get crowned Prom Queen with Tommy Ortega as her King, dancing all night with Karma at your side, better and closer than you’ve ever been. You read Shane’s opinion pieces in the school newspaper every week, not surprised at all when one of those columns went viral for all the right reasons. You delivered the valedictory address at graduation, and saw your parents in the crowd with Karma, beaming proudly, looking up at you with such joy, such adoration, and such _love,_ that it made everything that went before – all the anger, the tears, the fighting, and the estrangement – worth it. You went to Liam’s big deal art show and your dad bought one of his paintings. You made a horror movie with no budget and they were all in it. Karma was, naturally, your Final Girl and you had the most fun doing it. It ended up being part of the creative submission portfolio you submitted to NYU.

Now, you know who you are, you know where you’re going. In the eleventh hour of this chapter of your life, you know who you want. The girl swimming back to you now. Karma. _Your_ Karma – beautiful, smart, sexy, happy in her skin, came into bloom, dorky, and sometimes infuriating Karma. Yes. After all this time, after all those other girls, she’s still the constant. Better than the tour girls, the hot bartender girls, the smart erudite AV club girls, the sweet timid, GSA girls who pass notes that you suck at writing replies to.

But it’s no secret. No shameful thing. She knows it. You’re open; you’re honest about it. She spots girls for you, and flirts shamelessly to get their numbers because you still have _zero_ game where that’s concerned. You hold hands whenever you want. You compliment her when she looks nice. You get caught staring at her ass or her boobs or, well, her _anything_ really, a lot, but Karma just laughs it off. You sleep in the same bed, wake up holding each other, and no one freaks out. You still, according to Karma, look really hot in the countless coupley selfies you take. Shane is still the first to like them and get all wistful about how good you’d be together when he gets drunk.

You get all wistful about how good you could’ve been together when you’re drunk. Hell, so does Karma.

She has that look now, like she’s on the verge of crying, because she’s realised you’ve just done something for the last time too.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says for the millionth time when she finally gets close enough.

She looks small in the water, only just able to keep her head above water because this end of the pool is deep. You’re both treading water, kind of circling each other, but getting closer all the while.

“I’m going to New York, not New Zealand, you can come visit me!” you remind her, with a light laugh. “Just because I won’t see you every day doesn’t mean you don’t matter to me,” you add, softer and more serious.

You don’t really want to have this conversation now, especially not in this pool in front of people. Granted it’s a lot less people than a few hours ago, but still. When you say goodbye – because that’s all it is, it’s not letting go, you can never do that – you want to hold her and ugly cry like it’s the end of the world without fear of being judged or laughed at. It is the end of the world in a way. It’s the end of the safe small little world you and Karma have created and cultivated since you were small, with your own secret language and special glances that mean sometimes you didn’t need language at all.

That easy shorthand is something you’ll really miss.

You’re struck by the sadness of that fact quickly and all at once when you blurt out, “We’re Karma and Amy. That won’t change.”

“But, but you’re leaving me,’ Karma stutters, somehow managing to smile even though she looks desperately sad too.

“But, not really,” you counter. “You have me on every social media platform you forced me to sign up for. It’ll be impossible not to see my face on a regular basis!” you remind her, reaching out and sweeping away tears with your thumb when they fall. “Don’t do this yet, Karm.”

It’s going to be hard. So hard not have her there all the time. Kind of like missing a limb, or a kidney. Dramatic perhaps, but no less true.

She nods, making a concerted effort to brighten. “I do really fucking love you though, Aims,” she declares, like it’s news to you. It’s not.

The look on her face is familiar too. Her eyes keep darting from your eyes to your lips and back again, and you know where this is going. Karma’s going to kiss you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, maybe it’s because your every emotion feels pin-sharp and heightened, instead of fuzzy like they usually are when you drink, or maybe it’s because you’re leaving, but you don’t have it in you to stop her. You don’t have it in you to survive another rejection either.

“Karma,” you breathe, in a weak attempt at resistance.

“Amy,” she replies so, so softly it almost hurts.

She leans forward at the same time you do, her head tilting. You were right. It’s going to happen. When you imagined kissing Karma for real you thought it’d be this great clash, a collision like when stars are made, because that’s the kind of passion she stirs – fierce and depthless – but it’s not. It’s soft, and light, and so completely _unlike_ any other time she’s kissed you since that very first time in the gym at the rally. Lifetimes ago. You shouldn’t kiss her back, you really shouldn’t, history tells you so, but her arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer, and your hands slide up to frame her face, and you want this. You want this. You want _her_ so much. You’re tired of quieting that voice in your head. History, consequences, and fucked up fuzzy logic be damned.

“Karma, we shouldn’t,” you warn, moving your head back a little, but not so far that Karma can’t kiss you. “We’re drunk … you’re drunk.”

Always the good girl. The smart girl. The voice of reason.

“I’m not drunk,” the way she’s looking at you is making it hard to hear that good, smart, reasonable girl. “I just want you.”

 _Fuck it_. You won’t have another moment like this.

You surge forward, water splashing everywhere, and kiss her harder, faster. She whimpers into your mouth as she deepens the kiss, just as eager as you are. You can feel her hand on the small of her your back, grabbing at your tank, material fisted in her hand pulling it taut. You don’t mean to, but you end up backing Karma into the side of pool, and she whimpers again when her back makes contact with the wall. Your hands drop to her ass underneath the water; rounding, grabbing, squeezing, and you lift her up a little higher. That earns a delicious groan, with Karma snagging your lip between her teeth and keeping hold before she kisses you again. This time, it feels like an attack, one that leaves you giddy, and breathless, and wanting for more. Karma’s _never_ kissed you like this. It’s greedy and relentless, and your brain almost shorts because there’s _tongue_ now, curling and stroking and teasing you, making your guard drop and you’ve never gone this far before. You want to keep going, but it can’t be here, not like this, not with an audience. Not when they’re watching and encroaching on it all with whistling and drunken applause.

Karma pulls away first, breathless. “Let’s go upstairs.”

You nod mutely, knowing this isn’t going to be a party that’s rounded off cocooned in your duvet with her watching Netflix, drinking the last of the cheap beer and shitty wine coolers Shane dares to call alcohol. She leaves first, and you can’t help but watch her as she climbs out, dress clinging to her even more tightly than before. She smiles at you, amused that you’re watching, and it takes you far too long to tear your eyes away from her ass when she stands up. Then, she holds out her hand, and you’re left scrambling to get out of the pool. The exit is neither cool nor ladylike, and the cold hits you immediately.

Karma turns back to you and says, “Kitchen,” gripping your hand tight as you weave through the people still hanging around, spread across the loungers and lawn chairs.

You manage to stop from looking at her ass for all of two seconds, finding Shane holding court near his makeshift cocktail bar on the back porch, with Liam and Zita wrapped around each other to his left, oblivious. Shane eyes you suspiciously, gesticulating wildly between you and Karma, but you just shrug, offering nothing else. He’s desperate to know, but he also looks ready to get judgey, and judgey Shane is a mood killer. The only thing you’re in the mood to do right now is kiss Karma’s face off, and she’s _clearly_ in the mood to do the same from the way she keeps glancing back at you. This is years in the making and you’re not about to let Shane ruin it.

The heat in the house hits you like a wall as soon as you’re over the threshold and into the kitchen, squeezing through a gap someone leaves that’s big enough for you to fit.

“You’re getting fucking water _everywhere_!” Lauren snaps by way of greeting. The party’s already ended for her, and she’s in bitch mode. It has to be Tommy’s fault. It’s _always_ Tommy’s fault.

Oh, the pool. You’d kind of forgotten about that. Your mother spent thousands of dollars on this flooring that now has soda, chips, beer, and suddenly the _worst_ thing of all, water all over it. You ignore the fact you’re barefoot and that combination is gross. Karma persuaded you to do the dive in the name of fun. She even persuaded you out of your favourite Converse with her best pout and puppy eyes combo.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Lauren asks, midway through shoving empty cups into a trash bag. “I need help here! We need to get these leeches out. Effing Shane and his effing Facebook invite!”

How you resist the urge to say ‘to fuck Karma’s gorgeous brains out’ is beyond you. Instead, “Drink” comes out, in the most innocent, neutral voice you can muster. She bursts out laughing and it sets you off too. Lauren glowers making it even more hilarious.

One erroneous click was all it took to change Shane’s Friday Night Intimate Gathering into a full scale party attended by most of the senior class You had good snacks and a perfect playlist, and now it’s all gone sideways thanks to someone bringing a keg and insisting you listen to nothing but Gaga and Katy Perry. Karma made it better though, dancing with you and singing along adorably off-key even though she could sing them both off the stage. So yeah, things have snowballed. Thank _fuck_ your mother’s in Utah at a meteorologists conference, because you won’t live to see next Tuesday, never mind New York, should she find out what happened.

You mouth a “sorry” because you feel guilty, but you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

“We’ll help tomorrow, Lauren,” Karma declares, brightly. “Relax!”

Lauren rolls her eyes, unconvinced.

It’s true. You will. You really will, but Lauren is not going to win here either. You don’t care how long you have to do her share of the chores for, you’re going to the kitchen for _whatever_ and then you’re going to bed, with Karma, and you’re sure as _hell_ not going to sleep. Tomorrow, you’ll tidy and you’ll clean because Karma turns into Mary Poppins levels of domestic goddess when you have to pull off clean up duty. She’s saved your ass more times than you can count. She’ll do it again when you all concoct elaborate lies about your evening that most definitely do _not_ involve beer and wine coolers, chips, jumping in pools, or having sex with Karma. If you get there. Karma could just want to kiss. _A lot_. All night. In your room. On your bed.

The last thing you hear before Karma pushes you against the cabinet, and captures your mouth in another heated kiss, is Lauren screeching what “selfish effing assholes” you both are before storming off, and it makes you laugh all over again.

“Do you want water or something?” you ask, dazed when you break the kiss, blushing beet red when Wade passes you to get something from the fridge. He has this little smirk on his face that says _everything_ and then he winks at you as he takes out a juice carton drinking straight from it. You didn’t even notice anyone else was in here.

“We should get towels,” you add, hearing your own mother’s voice in your head. “I don’t want to you get sick.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Karma replies in a tone you can’t fail to read as flirtatious. “Don’t worry,” she adds, putting a hand on your chest, leaning up again, her mouth temptingly close to yours. “We’ll warm up,” she smiles at you in this delicious, _sexy_ way, and you swallow hard.

You’ve heard Karma like this before. You’ve seen the smiling, and the flirting, and the unnecessary touches. It’s just never been focussed on _you_ before. It renders you speechless, and makes you feel like your whole body could melt into a puddle of nothing and you wouldn’t even _care_ , because this kind of attention is amazing.

Wade slams the refrigerator closed and it makes you jump, then he wheels around, making an OK sign when Karma has her back to him. You don’t know if you should slap him or high-five in solidarity.

All these interruptions are awkward, killing the momentum, and giving you time to think about how crazy this is and how Karma’s sudden change of heart is like emotional whiplash after ‘not like that’ and ‘I can’t’.

As soon as Wade is gone and the other couple of random people still hanging around drift out, you’re all on your own and you’re kissing again, Karma grabbing the back of your head and pulling it down. She keeps hold, hand resting there, sliding under your still very wet hair that she took forever to style.

“What are we doing?” you manage, between one kiss and the next, Karma stretching up to reach you. She’s missing her heels now.

You don’t want to jinx it and kill the mood with questions, but it’s like you have Tourette’s, only instead of swearing, or ticks, or whatever else, you keep asking her things because you never expected this to happen. _Ever_. And you don’t know why it’s happening now.

“What we both want,” she replies, in this low – dare you say sexy – little tone. “I know you want this,” she continues, pressing you back harder into the countertop, so you’re hip to hip. “You’ve _always_ wanted this.”

For a moment, she sounds smug, because she’s right, and she knows it. She has power over you, and she knows that too.

But then she’s looking at you differently, softer and more earnest when she adds, “I’ve always wanted it too.”

You don’t have much time to process that little fucking bombshell, because Karma’s kissing you again, guiding your hands back to her ass, and you’re human, and weak, and batshit crazy about her, so you just give in. You give in and lift her up, putting her onto the counter. She pulls you closer, wrapping her legs around your waist, hiking her already tiny dress up. Your hands drop naturally to her thighs, and you want to hike that dress even higher, ease her panties aside, and slip your fingers … You should stop really, because you’re in serious danger of fucking her on this counter, and you don’t want it to be like that at all, but she has her hands in your hair now, and she’s kissing you in this _hungry_ way, like she can’t get enough, and that’s hard to ignore.

Grudgingly, you break the kiss and back away. “We need to …”

“Yes,” she replies, breathlessly, nodding.

Before you can say anything else, she hops off the counter, fixes her dress, and grabs your hand again, leading you from the kitchen. It takes you longer than necessary to get up the stairs because there are yet more people wrapped around each other making out. After a constant stream of “excuse me’s” from Karma fails, you give one of the guys who’s right in the middle of your path a swift kick. He mumbles something that you don’t catch and Karma laughs, dragging you past him before something else threatens to derail the evening.

“Whatever, dude,” you yell, rounding the landing. “I punched a cop once!”

Karma laughs again, full and bright, spinning you around to kiss you, ignoring the other people in various stages of drunkenness dotted around you, her hands framing your face. “Even though I’m a pacifist,” she says, between pecks, “that was kinda hot. This is fucking hotter though,” she’s doing that sexy look again, eyes fixed on your mouth. “Really,” she adds, in the exhale of a long, uneven breath.

You love it when she swears, you love her like this. Your bedroom is suddenly ten steps too far away.

“Really?” you ask, smiling slightly as you tilt your head down to kiss her again.

You’re in this now. Fuck what it means.

That kiss isn’t like the cute, sweet little kisses you used to have. It’s the kind of kiss you used to dream about, hot and heavy and _filthy_ sounding, with way too much tongue, teasing her and testing her as you walk her backwards, hands resting on her hips, guiding her toward your room. She’s straining to reach you, back arching perfectly.

“This is hotter,” you whisper in the shell of her ear. And then, because there’s no reason to lie, “I’m so fucking turned on right now.” She gulps and you feel it, lips pressed against her neck.

You’ll blame the beer, and the wine coolers, and that horrible cocktail of _fuck knows what_ that Mitch Keppel brought along for what you just said.

“ _Fuck_ , Amy,” she says, with this desperate edge to her voice, and suddenly, you’re not so ashamed for wanting her in your bed anymore. “I need to … we need to.”

She sounds so much more desperate than you did minutes ago. You murmur your approval against her lips, and she grabs your hand. Then you’re practically running, feeding off each other’s giddy, nervous energy. By the time you get there, you’re giggling and breathless, trading quick pecks as you reach to open the door, fumbling to find and then turn the handle not wanting to break the kiss to look. Finally, you make it in, stumbling in the semi darkness.

“Shit!” you exclaim, tripping over something. Karma laughs, and there’s a lot more crashing around until you get to your nightstand and the lamp, only just able to reach to switch it on.

It lights up a tiny corner of the room, but it’s enough to see that it looks like a bomb hit it. Forever 21 threw up in here. This is not what you wanted for the moment when Karma’s finally in here for, well, sex. You wanted candles and not shitty music to be playing when/if it finally happened. You wanted it to be this event, planned, perfect, but this just kind of crept up out of nowhere. Not that you’re complaining or anything, but you just want it to be what Karma deserves after all this time.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you mumble, rushing around to clear a path of some kind, feeling embarrassed suddenly because you know Karma is watching you. “Music, we need music,” you say, needlessly, nervousness leaching out of you with every word. Your phone is on the floor somewhere, knocked off the nightstand in your rush to turn on the light.

Yes, you have zero game. Kissing you’re apparently good at, sex you’ve become good at, but seduction? Hell no. Karma expects things. Karma knows things. Karma _wants_ things. It’s different now that you’re in here. Alone. All that sexy playfulness is gone, because you used to dream about this. Dream about her, sitting on your bed, kissing in a very PG-13 way while Jeff Buckley played in the background, like a movie. By comparison, this very _un_ -PG-13 turn of events is your filthiest sophomore wet dream that would leave you blushing, frustrated, getting yourself off in the shower, praying you wouldn’t get busted, minutes before Karma would skip into your bedroom, full of gossip, and sunshine, and joy with no clue of what you were doing.

“I don’t care,” she declares, in this slow, breathy voice, and you spin quickly, fistfuls of clothes still in your hands, catching sight of her looking at you, _really_ looking, lip caught between her teeth.

She makes a show of shaking her hair out of its ponytail, fluffing now tousled wavy hair. When did she get this sexy? Was she always this sexy and you just didn’t notice? You don’t have much time to analyse it, because she reaches behind her, twisting the lock on the door. It closes with a neat, satisfying click, and you straighten, dropping the clothes because she’s coming towards you, she’s coming _for_ you. Then, you’re kissing in this frenzied, greedy way, and you don’t know where to put your hands, or where to touch. You let out a squeak of surprise as she starts to tug impatiently at your still drying tank. It’s a struggle to get it off, because you won’t stop kissing each other, and then it gets tangled in your hair so both end up giggling at it when Karma finally throws it away. As soon as it’s gone, something changes, something in you shifts, and you feel yourself relax. This is _Karma_. Even if you do fuck up because you’re so eager she’s not going to give a shit, she’d probably take it as a compliment.

You pull her closer again, needing to be kissing her even though you’ve barely stopped. They’re quick and heavy and desperate, Karma reaches up and wraps her arms around your neck like you’re the only thing holding her up. All you can hear is the dim thudding of the music downstairs, your breathing, quick and unsteady, and the sound of your kisses, smiling against Karma’s lips when she starts to get impatient, nipping and teasing at your bottom lip with her teeth. So you give it to her, mouth latching onto her neck when she turns away for air, your hands sliding around to reach the zipper on her dress. The noise of it opening is insanely satisfying. Her breath hitches at the sudden release as you peel it down to her waist, stroking the skin on her back, feeling her arch into your touches.

Just when you think you’re in control, Karma takes it back, pushing you square in the chest so you fall back on the bed. You yelp a little “Hey!” landing with a bounce, flustered. She waits for you to sit up on your elbows, standing close, but not close enough, and then shimmies right out of her dress, revelling in the fact that it takes longer to do it because the material is still wet. You just wait and watch as more of her is revealed, mouth dry and slightly agape, because _fuck_ she’s beautiful. She stands there for a moment, without a hint of shame, and lets you look.

“You like?” she asks, feigning innocence, and you just nod dumbly.

She’s always been beautiful, but now she’s sexy as _hell_ and you wish you’d seen this side of her so much sooner. Like three years ago sooner, so you could’ve had the girl who’s currently climbing onto your bed in super expensive, super sexy matching lingerie every. Fucking. Night.

“Oh, I like,” you say as she gets closer, pushing you onto your back. “I like _a lot_.”

“Good,” she nods, climbing right into your lap, straddling you low on your hips, grinding down just little, testing. “Good.”

You make some sort of strangled _noise_ that you’ve never made before. Not with Reagan, not with the tour girls, not with _anyone_. You might not live until New York because Karma’s going to kill you dead.

“Karma, you can’t keep going like this,” you blurt out breathlessly, when she grinds down again.

“Hmm?” she tilts her head, playful. She heard. She damn well heard, because her hands are skating down your stomach, near the button on your jeans. “What, like this?”

This time, she rolls her hips more than before, pressing right down, and your eyes flutter closed, groaning.

“That, that thing,” you stutter out between sharp breaths. “Doing _that_.”

“But it feels good, right?” she asks, and does it again, a little harder. This time she lets out a little gasp. Clearly you’re not the only one it’s working for.

It’s getting a little hard to focus. Good is an understatement.

“Yes.” Another groan. “You feel good.”

Even though your eyes are closed you know she’s smiling. She’s flirty, and naughty, and plays up her own sexiness when she wants to, but she’s not confident about herself at all. She should be. She made you wait twenty minutes while she changed her outfit seven times tonight and fussed and fretted over it, but now you’re so glad you let her, so glad. It wasn’t time wasted because it got you here in the middle of this fucking amazingness.

“I can make you feel better,” she says, and there’s no mistaking that voice at all, low and heavy with want.

You feel her scoot back, and your eyes snap open at the exact moment she pops the button on your jeans. You’re thrown for a second because there’s a _lot_ of Karma suddenly in your view, and you can see her ass reflected in the mirror opposite your bed, but then you’re moving, because she’s trying to yank your jeans and your panties down in one go, eager, but they’re both stuck, so she just goes for your jeans instead.

If she’s not careful, you’re both going to end up in a tangled mess on the floor. If you’re not careful, you’re pretty sure this won’t be happening at all. The longer Karma tugs and the more you try to wriggle to help her, the further away this all feels. Karma’s here, Karma’s ready, and it’s all going to be thwarted by some fucking ridiculous wet pair of jeans from A & F that you only have because she coaxed you into trying them on in the store and said your ass looked good in them.

Maybe she’s reconsidering that now. She sure looks like she is.

“Amy, what the _fuck_?!”

“Ugh, I know,” you whine, and she laughs. “Rip em, I don’t fucking care!”

She smirks at you. She actually has the audacity to smirk at a time like this. But, she can’t find it that amusing, since she’s standing at the foot of your bed for leverage, so focussed on stripping you, that it looks ridiculous. That’s something to laugh at, even if your complete inability to get naked isn’t. Knowing your luck this will be the moment Lauren chooses to bust the door down and interrupt to tell you about some catastrophe downstairs.

“Fucking. Get. Off!” she demands through gritted teeth. “I hate Abercrombie so much right now!”

By the time she gets them off, pulling harder than you thought possible, you’re in a heap on floor, having landed straight on your ass near the end of the bed, taking the duvet with you. Karma’s on her knees, untangling herself from your jeans. Even though you’re both frustrated, you’re still laughing. This is typical, you go for the sexy stuff and you end up fucking it up completely, and yet, it feels right to be with her like this. Like something secret, and special, and kind of _wonderful_ is snapping into place by dropping this seductive pretence.

“For the record,” you pout. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry, they just needed to be gone,” she says, glaring as the throws them away, like their existence offends her.

“So much for sexy?” you comment quietly, and then you’re both laughing.

“I don’t know,” she begins, crawling back closer. “This is kinda sexy down here,” her hands fall to rest on your knees, sliding upwards over your thighs as she adds, “don’t you think?”

Before you can so much as squeak out an answer, her hands are cradling your face instead, and she’s kissing you in this maddeningly slow, passionate way, and it feels like you can’t breathe right all of a sudden.

“Yeah, but,” you manage, between kisses, “It could be even better up there.”

Not your best, but in this mood, you don’t think Karma cares much. Neither do you. You’re not really thinking right now about anything beyond Karma’s mouth, Karma’s hands, and Karma’s body, and how much you want to be touching all of it. _Now_.

You shift up on your knees matching her, pulling down the straps of her bra while you keep kissing, your hands curving around the cups, palming her breasts through the thin material, hooking your fingers underneath and pulling them down a little, so her breasts just spill over the cups. She smiles against your lips, pressing one deliberate peck before she breaks away. You can’t resist leaning down to litter kisses across her chest, alternating with broad sweeps of your tongue. Her breath hitches sharply at every move. _God,_ you needed to taste her skin, the salt-sweat and something that’s _her_. She throws her head back, her hand flying to the back of your own, grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging slightly. You hum approval against her skin, and reach around, undoing her bra with one quick, practiced flick of the wrist, and peel it off of her, dotting kisses over her shoulders and collarbones, teeth nipping just a little as you go. Your name falls from Karma’s lips around a breathy moan when you dip your head to capture one of her nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue experimentally while you stroke and squeeze her breasts with both hands, greedy and indecent.

You can take control back too.

“Oh, fuck,” is all you get in response, needy and desperate, like she’s said it, but never meant it before.

You repeat the same path with her other breast, feeling her nipple stiffen just as quickly. You could get drunk on this, drunk on her and the power of making her feel like this. When you dreamed, she was never this responsive. She never gave so much so freely.

“Bed,” she chokes out. “Bed. Now.”

She wants more of this, but she wants it stretched out on your bed. So do you. This time, you’re the one holding out your hands and pulling her up. No, you need it. You need to be on top of her, every inch of you touching everything of her. You need to be next to her, and all around her, and inside of her. You need it more than anything, unable to ignore the ache that’s been building between your legs. This has been good, amazing even, but you know it could be better. You want to make Karma feel good. You want to blow her fucking mind. You want to feel her come. You want to hear her come, and know you’re the reason why, touching her like were too scared to dream of.

You’ve barely made it onto the bed before Karma’s kissing you again, hard, urgent, as she unclasps your bra with surprising ease and guides you down to the mattress. This isn’t exactly how you expected the next few moments to pan out, but then, none of this is what you expected. She’s naked, panties gone in a blur. She’s completely naked, her body almost flush with yours. It feels amazing.

“You’re right,” she comments, hovering above you, hands on either side of your head. “This is much better.”

Her every word is punctuated with a kiss.

Just when you’re about to reach up for another one, she moves away, drifting downwards. Her hands only move to cup your breasts, mimicking what you did to her while squeezing them lightly.

The rest of her body elongates felinely as she presses kisses all over your chest and down your stomach, stopping short just above your panties. You’re transfixed, tense with anticipation, trying to focus on keeping your breathing steady – if she keeps going like this, you’re going to pass out – wondering what's she’s going to do now, and how she knows to do anything at all, because you were a fumbling mess that first time with Reagan.

You’re still a fumbling mess now in some ways, but seeing her like this is the greatest surprise.

For a few long – very long – moments, you think you stop breathing altogether, because Karma’s still moving down, still kissing, her teeth grazing your left hip, then her fingers are hooking your panties, pulling them slowly down. Unconsciously, you lift your hips to help her, and they’re thrown off somewhere you can’t see, and it suddenly dawns on you, Karma’s got you completely naked. You don’t feel vulnerable or exposed, you just feel _wanted_. You see that wanted reflected in her too, when she gazes up at you and smiles that same little sultry smile she’s been doing all night, but there’s something different there that you’ve never seen before and you can’t even name. Then, before you can think of speaking, her hands are stroking you, sliding up from your hips to your breasts, and back again, settling below your belly button, palms spread. Belatedly, you realise what’s going to happen: Karma’s going to go down on you. Somewhere, sophomore you is dying. You never had the imagination to dream this. You never _dared_ to hope for it.

“Karma,” you gasp out, craning to watch as her head dips down in between your legs.

All you get is a “hmm?” which would be an entirely innocent question were she not pressing light – the lightest of light – kisses to your inner thighs in turn, like she’s mapping something out. Somewhere along the line, between beer pong, off-key karaoke to Meghan Trainor and Justin Bieber, jumping into the pool, stumbling into this room, you became her territory. Maybe you always have been. Now she’s just brave enough to mark it out.

The second her mouth presses gentle kisses on your folds, your breath hitches sharply, throwing your head back.

“Karma,” you say again, around a shaky breath.

You know you should be getting out of your own head here and back to the sexy stuff, teach her a few things and demand a few more, but right now, all you can focus on is the fact that Karma’s tongue is sweeping through your folds, light but teasing, like she knows you exactly. She’s not being too fast, too hard, or too rough, it’s … perfect. Just when you think she can’t get better, it does, because she switches angles and moves closer, pressing deeper. She’s getting confident, and you’re getting ridiculously close to coming. You keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, looking at those stick on stars, luminance fading, and resort to putting your hands in your hair, fisting it, because you’re terrified of grabbing her head and pushing it against you too hard and you break her nose. It feels so good, _too_ good, and it’s getting hard to breathe. It’s even harder to keep your hips still, even though her hands are anchoring you a little. You arch your back instead, letting out an indecent moan as her hands slide down to grasp your thighs, squeezing slightly. Then it happens: Karma makes her big move, taking your clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around and lapping in quicker strokes than before and you can just hear the glorious sound of her working you over, murmuring her enthusiasm. You should be embarrassed really, because you were wet before things really heated up, just from kissing her, and now it’s even more than that. Karma’s so eager, so attentive, so _into_ this that you can’t help but lose yourself in this. It’s _Karma,_ and she’s beautiful, and you fucking love her. This is everything you dreamed of. This is eighteen years worth of birthdays and Christmases all wrapped up in a sexy as hell ribbon.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you groan, eyes screwing tight shut as she speeds up, delving even deeper. “Fuck me.”

You’re not sure how you meant it, because thinking is _really_ not your priority currently, but she seems to take it as an instruction, humming her approval, and then alternating between broad long sweeps of her tongue, and light sucking on your clit. Maybe it’s the combination of light and soft, the sheer fucking bliss of the fact that she’s not just playing around with you and is actually, legitimately eating you out and lavishing all this attention on you, but then, all that delicious tension that’s been building in your belly skyrockets. Kaboom. Complete and absolute bliss. It’s spectacular. You hear Karma’s name coming out of your mouth over and over, but it sounds different, it feels different on your tongue. This time there’s none of the slowly building ecstasy, marked with a satisfied groan and a giggle or two, your release is loud, drawn from somewhere deep. You make a sound you’ve never heard before – thin and high but wondrous – and you come harder and faster than you ever have before, even when you’ve gotten yourself off thinking about her.

When you can finally open your eyes, still shaking, you suddenly remember Karma is there, and she’s crawling back up toward you, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand and licking her lips with relish.

“That was fun,” she comments, with a smile.

“Uh-huh,” you nod and she lets out a peal of laughter.

That amazing jello feeling is back, but it’s like you’re liquid, or air, or something even lighter and you _know_ that’s ridiculous, but you’re lacking in vocabulary for any of this. Karma leans down then, kissing you softly and words leave you entirely. Your brain is blissfully blank.

“You taste good,” she says, so casually you’re kind of thrown.

“Do I?” you tease, hearing the shakiness still in your voice.

You let out a long, unsteady breath, trying to pull yourself together. But honestly, this is just a little overwhelming. Everything you’ve ever wanted to happen since, well, _forever_ , just happened. It snowballed. You need a minute, you need a lifetime, to get over it. Karma just nods, smiling as brushes away the hair that’s stuck to your forehead, pressing a brief kiss there. She rolls off you then, and you think that’s it, experiment over, but then she’s on her side, lying next to you, pulling you closer. You’re sticky and sweaty, but she doesn’t seem to care. It just feels natural to be doing this. To be with her like this. Natural too, when you exchange idle kisses, stroking her back and her shoulders just because you can. You’re close enough to see how her lashes flutter against her cheek when you touch her like this.

“That was kind of amazing, you know” you whisper, cupping her cheek.

She blushes a bright and brilliant shade of red. After everything, that’s the thing that makes her blush. It’s kind of adorable, you’re not kind of in love with her. You’re fully in love with her again, broken and mended heart fully engaged, ramming out of your chest with excitement and love. The reason why you love her isn’t _just_ because she gave you the orgasm of your life, it’s because she’s Karma. _Your_ Karma. The Karma you’ve always been waiting for, no matter how you tried to fight it.

“Really?” she asks, uncertain.

This Karma is more familiar, nervous, sweet and insecure.

“Really,” you assure, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Where did that even come from? How do you know?”

She blushes, again, burying her face in the pillows when she replies, “Jess.”

“Jess from work?” you squeak out, because it’s the answer you least expected. She works with her at The Brew & Chew. She’s cooler than cool, she takes even cooler pictures, and she flirts with you shamelessly every time you go in to talk to Karma and scam free caramel latte’s.

“Jess from work,” she mumbles, echoing you.

For a moment, you’re imagining that Karma had some torrid lesbian affair with Jess over the summer and she suddenly knows _everything_ because she’s had some amazing sexual awakening and you didn’t even _know_. Then, you wonder how much porn she borrowed from Shane or looked up on the internet to make that stupid fucking dossier forever ago, because the first option doesn’t seem that likely at all.

“Ugh,” she groans, finally turning to face you. “We got talking, and you know what she’s like, she talks about fucking girls all the time, so I asked her what you do, how you ….” she tails off, blushing furiously.

“And what was her wisdom?” you ask, smiling.

“Ice cream and mangoes,” she replies, and you frown, motioning for her to continue. “That it’s like eating ice cream on a really hot day, and you don’t want to waste any because it’s your favourite flavour, or eating a really sweet, ripe, juicy mango and you don’t want to waste any of the juice.”

“Oh,” is all you blurt out, because _wow_. Jess just became your favourite person.

“I know, it’s dumb,” she smirks, “but it worked, right? It felt good.”

“Did you miss the part where I said it was amazing?”

“No, I just wanted you to say it again.”

You’re trying to think of some witty retort, call her out for her cockiness, but you don’t want to be doing anything other than kissing her, because you’re not sure how long you’ll get to do it. She seems to feel the same way, closing what little distance is left between you. Her lips meet yours in the barest press, but she still shudders at it. You keep going like that, kissing slow and lazy, as she wraps her arms around you, and before you realise, you’re easing her onto her back, straddling her thigh. It’s a little late for nerves, but they arrive anyway, surging up quickly out of nowhere, making the next kiss miss its target, landing on the corner of Karma’s mouth. Slowly, you move your hand downwards, brushing her thigh, and you wait, feeling her breath quicken, and she tenses silently. You break the kiss, wondering if this is the late moment she’ll choose to bolt and let the real world and all the complicated things in it crash in on you both; suffocating.

“Is it OK to touch you?” you ask, in a small voice, stroking her hair with her free hand. You sound strange. It sounds like sophomore you, anxious and adrenaline-fuelled, not believing her luck.

Maybe you are that girl underneath all that evolution. Maybe you always will be.

“God, you _really_ don’t have to ask. I hope you’re not expecting some epic thing here because, it’s really not gonna take all that long,” she pauses, trying to gather herself. “I’m really fucking turned on, and I need you to touch me. _Now._ I … I want you to.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “OK.”

You feel a little awkward and nervous because this is _Karma_ and you’re the first girl to do this ever, but then she pulls you down to kiss her, grabbing the back of your head and things get a lot easier.

All you can think is ‘don’t fuck it up’ followed by ‘don’t hurt her,’ but eventually, you get too lost in kissing her that all those worries fade. You’re still kissing, soft, haphazard, when you slip your hand between her legs. She moans into your mouth at the first brief touch, tracing her lips with your fingertips and stroking through her folds slowly. She’s wet. Wetter than you expected really, but then not, because she’s so responsive, so ready, so wanting. You keep your touches light and slow, easing her and yourself into this. She’s perfect. God she’s _perfect_. Silky soft and deliciously wet for you. The room is too hot and too small suddenly. You angle your hand just so, to circle her clit, trading pecks of kisses all the while. You think she’s ready now, her staccato breaths getting softer now she’s more used to the feeling. You take a risk, gently easing a finger inside her, keeping pressure on her clit with your thumb. The next breath she takes hitches longer than all the others, and you wait again, stilling for her, because it’s so different, being with her, touching her like this, having all the control. Different to all the flirting, and the teasing, and the grabbing and ripping off clothes. This is more than all of that.

You’re inside her. You’re _inside_ her. It’s amazing and you feel like crying, shouting it from the rooftops, or just never leaving this room, because doing anything but this, in bed with her, seems utterly pointless right now. You never thought you’d end up here. It’s not something you’ll ever want to get used to. Seeing her like this, head thrown back, lips parted just a little, eyes closed, giving herself completely to you, it’s overwhelming. It’s nothing like you dreamed of. She clings to you tightly, and it doesn’t matter the position is a little odd, with you half on your side, hips subconsciously starting to buck against her thigh. You add another finger, and press deeper, just sinking into the warmth of her, building a slow rhythm, listening for her every reaction. After a while, you’re so in sync, your hips matching hers as they start to rise to meet your hand, you’re not sure if the moans of pleasure are coming from you or her. You’re not sure it matters, because that delicious tension is back in your belly, and she’s getting more and more desperate. She wasn’t lying about needing you.

“Faster, Amy, please …. please,” she begs.

After another purposeful peck that’s answer enough, you curl your fingers, moving faster and faster, ignoring the burn in your arm and the ache in your wrist, because this is too good. You could get drunk off the power you get giving her what she wants.

“Feel good, honey?” that comes out around shaky breaths as you shamelessly grind against her, mouth latching onto her throat, kissing and licking indelicately.

“So good …”

Her voice hits a particular pitch you’ve never heard before, her grip on your shoulders tightening, nails biting in, and you know she’s close. _Very_ close. You’ve found this little spot that seems to drive her crazy, so you keep hitting it, again and again, quicker and quicker, circling her clit with your thumb at the same speed because you want her to tip over the edge, fall spectacularly, you want her to feel like you did.

“Oh, _fuck_ , I’m going to –”

She doesn’t get to finish that sentence, and you didn't need her to tell you, because you can feel it. You feel every second of that beautiful, amazing moment. Every tiny flutter of her muscles around your fingers. You feel the vibration of your own name, falling from her lips in a loud cry with her release. In the strange quiet of the room, you wait again, listening to her breathing and hearing it even out before gently, carefully, easing your fingers out. On impulse, you raise them to her lips, she clasps your wrist tight, and she kisses each fingertip in turn, letting out a soft gasp when she tastes herself on them, licking them clean with a fascinated greed. The sight is enough for you to tip over the edge again, collapsing against her with a loud groan.

You lie like that for what feels like a long time, tangled up in each other, snatching kisses between heavy breaths, and touching everything you can reach. It’s never been like this with anyone else. You’ve never felt so much. You never felt so satisfied. You’ve never felt so loved as you do now, lying in her arms as she strokes your hair. She rolls onto her side, taking you with her, fixing the pillow before you rest your head on it, like you’re precious.

“You’re shaking,” she comments, quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, burying your head in her chest, strangely shy. “All you.”

“That was ... ” she pauses, taking time to choose her words.

“I know,” you reply, needlessly, capturing her lips in a long, heated kiss.

“I love you,” she blurts out suddenly, eyes filling with tears, and it surprises you both. “Like that.”

That surprises you even more. Your heart is so full it might explode.

“I love you too,” you reply, quickly, easily, because it’s never been truer.

“We have the worst timing,” she sighs, gripping you tighter.

“No,” you lift your head so you can see her, “we have the best timing,” you correct, lacing your fingers with hers and kissing her hand. “That was worth everything.”

You don’t need to say what ‘everything’ means. She kisses you again, soft, but insistent, and then you don’t stop kissing, even though you barely have the energy to do it.

Sure, she’s right, the timing sucks now, you don’t even have three days before New York anymore, you have two. It’s some stupid hour and there’s no horrible thudding music anymore. It’s perfectly still and quiet, and everything you were worrying about this morning, about leaving and losing Karma, doesn’t seem to matter right now. Not when you have this. Not when you know how good it is to be hers after all this time. You’ll be separated by miles, but Karma will never leave you, not really. Your summer away taught you that.

Whatever this night means, you’ll work it out. Whatever New York brings, you’ll work it out.

For now, you just want to focus on her, and how good it feels to hold her and kiss her, because there’s nothing to work out at all. You keep kissing, lazy, sleepy, and sated until you can’t stay awake any longer. Body heavy with tiredness, reluctantly, you pull away, breaking the kiss. She smiles at you softly, fighting hard to stave off sleep a few seconds longer. It’s so adorable that you can’t help but kiss her again softly in lieu of saying goodnight.

The moment you come up for air, you know something is different, but now you know why.


End file.
